The general reflected for a moment, and then turned to his daughter.
"Angela," he said, "what is the name of the hunter who owns the herd?"
The young lady started.
"Why do you ask me, papa?" she replied, with feigned astonishment; "I really do not know what you mean. I am entirely ignorant whether there is a herd in this hostelry."
"That is true," the general said, recollecting. "Where the deuce is my head gone? It was your camarista, I believe, who spoke to one of the fellows."
"Yes, papa."
"Pardon me. Come, Violanta, my child, can you tell me this man's name?"
The girl approached with downcast eyes, and twisting the hem of her fine muslin apron between her fingers with an embarrassed air. It was evident she was trying all she knew to blush. The general awaited her answer for several minutes, but then lost patience.
"Come, you little fool," he exclaimed, "will you make up your mind to speak, yes or no? People would fancy I was asking you a question unfit for a maiden to answer."
"I do not say that, general," she replied hesitatingly.